


Number One Party Anthem (Before The Moment's Gone)

by softer_softest



Category: Green Day
Genre: AU, Boys Kissing, But it's okay, Fluff, Love Declarations, M/M, Pining, Young Jason, a tiny bit of angst i think, all the gay to match the author, billie/mike - Freeform, boys making out, did i mention this is how i got my first girlfriend?, for NINE fucking years, green day rpf - Freeform, happy ending with a lot of possibilities, i love jason white please, it's mike's twenty-fifth birthday!, read more to find out lmao, that's it!, young billie, young mike, young tré
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-17
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-06-27 02:38:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15676335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softer_softest/pseuds/softer_softest
Summary: It's even worse when Mike turns to look at him because then he's reminded that Mike's eyes are blue – so blue and so nicely shaped, and his eyebrows are naturally furrowed. He truly could swing at him, really easily. All this frustration's making him crazy, and the clear blue of Mike's eyes isn't helping, nor is the fact that he looks confused right now, as if Billie hasn't been confused over this for nine fucking years.or, it's mike's twenty-fifth birthday, and billie's as lame at party planning as he is at love declarations.(alternatively: it's mike's twenty-fifth birthday and billie decides he's gonna grow a pair.)





	Number One Party Anthem (Before The Moment's Gone)

**Author's Note:**

> before you start on this i feel the need to say this is similar to how i got my first girlfriend... like actually... she pissed herself and then we made out. anyway, uh this is the longest piece i've written so far, so that's cool. as always: i do not own green day, and i'm not saying any of this happened. enjoy!

Billie's good at a lot of things. He can play the guitar, he can flip burgers and wipe counters at work excellently, if he does say so himself, and he can also write an impressive number of songs in just a day. He can also go half a day without pissing, but that's something he purposely doesn't add to his resume.

And while he has all of those mildly impressive, completely underwhelming qualities under his belt, he also has a lot of things that he sucks absolute balls at. Number one on this list would be communicating his feelings, and then right under that would be the cursed phrase of _'party planning'_. Both of these things happen to have something to do with Mike.

Sweet little Mike who's been his best friend ever since he was an oblivious ten-year-old, and has stuck with him until now, that he's an oblivious adult. Sweet little Mike who's really not so little anymore, because tonight happens to be his twenty-fifth birthday, which Billie just had to feel the need to personally handle. Now that he thinks it over, it probably wasn't the best idea he's had in a minute.

Well, they do have the place ready on time. He was able to get Jason to DJ for the night, as well, so he figures they'll be fine on the music department, and he supposes he had it coming when he set Tré responsible for the balloons and wound up with some pink ones that read 'It's A Girl!'. It's a good thing they at least have the wanted alcohol and snack supply, courtesy of every single person invited, and Billie's too grateful to put into words.

It's going to be an okay party, he supposes. They even have a smoke machine. They'll be fine.

He faintly registers someone talking to him, though he's really too out of it to try and look like he's paying attention. He's having a fucking crisis over something he's been trying to get out of his system for the longest time – almost nine years – and now someone's pushing his shoulder aggressively, almost sending him over the railing of the balcony he's perched on.

“Jesus Christ,” he exclaims, his grip going deadly on the railing, involuntarily biting down on the cigarette in his mouth. He looks over his shoulder and is not at all surprised to see Tré standing there, with a kiddie party hat on his head and a shit-eating grin on his face. “I could have fucking fallen over, you asshole!”

“I wouldn't let you,” Tré says sincerely, his eyes narrowing down on the cigarette in Billie's mouth. He impulsively reaches out and then proceeds to throw it on the ground, but Billie doesn't find it in him to protest, “I thought you said you'd quit, man, come on.”

“I was stressed,” he murmurs, as if that would be a good enough explanation for someone like Tré. He'll have to make do with it. Billie's shit at talking with people, and he hasn't slept properly in two days.

“I see,” Tré mutters thoughtfully, tapping his fingers on the railing. They can both hear Jason testing the sound system inside. “And what exactly are you stressed about? Could it be that Dave brought salt and vinegar flavored chips? I'm sure Mike will forgive you.”

Billie tries to take a drag off of his cigarette, only to be reminded that it was so rudely snatched away from him just a moment ago. So much for dramatic effect. He lazily searches his pockets for his pack, his eyes never straying away from the horizon, “I think I'm gonna do it tonight.”

Tré snatches away the pack of cigarettes once Billie has it in his hands, putting it in his own pocket, “You're gonna let someone pop your cherry?”

“I'm _not_ a virgin.”

“I meant your gay cherry but something tells me I'll get the same answer,” Tré tries to give him a knowing look, but finds it hard to do so, seeing as Billie never moves his eyes an inch from the sky.

He does a minute later, though, turning his head ever so slightly to look at Tré, the stress evident in his tone, “And I meant I'm gonna tell Mike how I feel about him.”

Tré backtracks. He takes a moment to gaze at his own hands, joint on the railing, and then reluctantly looks back at Billie Joe's expectant face, “I don't think that's such a good idea.”

It kind of sounds absurd coming from him, to be honest. Partly because Tré thinks that literally anything is a good idea, including swinging from a hotel's chandelier in the nude, but mostly because he's the one that has been bugging him to stop being a dumb prick and confront Mike about his godforsaken feelings. He guesses his face looks just as confused as he thinks it does.

“What?” he turns to get a good look at him, seeing him bite on his thumbnail. “How come?”

Tré doesn't meet eyes with him for a long while, chewing on his thumb all along, and this should be the thing that sends alarm bells ringing all along Billie's brain. What does it for him is the way Tré laughs nervously before he finally shrugs at him.

“I, um. I have serious suspicions that, like, half of the people in this very apartment are planning on asking Mike out this fine evening.”

Billie stares. He needs a moment or two to process everything that's been said to him, especially since Tré wasn't even smooth about it. He glances inside through the open balcony doors, takes just one good look of all the very carefree, very hot people dancing and chatting inside, and then comes back to his senses.

“Right,” he sniffs, a nervous chuckle escaping his throat, sounding like a gurgle more than anything else. “And why do you think that?”

“Uh, mainly because half of the people in this very apartment told me that they're planning on asking Mike out this fine evening.”

“That's, um,” Billie exhales carefully, reaching out and grabbing his pack of cigarettes from Tré's pocket, “alright.”

Tré's rubbing at his forehead as Billie lights another cigarette, not stopping him this time around. It's the least he can do, he supposes. He does stare at him, though.

“Who would've known Mike's so popular among the ladies?” he wonders out loud, rubbing Billie's shoulder comfortingly. “And, uh, the gentlemen, I suppose. There are a few in there.”

Billie nods, watching as the smoke he's blowing out dissolves into the air. He supposes that being seventy-two years old and pining over Mike Pritchard isn't the worst thing that could happen to him in the future. Maybe he will have met someone else by then. Only time will show.

What time shows now is that Billie's initial plans on freeing his soul from this weight he's been carrying for the outrageous span of nine whole years are being thrown out of the window. It's not something he's completely on board with, but he'll have to make do with it for the sake of the party and his own dignity.

“Ugh, you know what?” Tré suddenly snaps, grabbing Billie's fag once again and aggressively stomping on it, successfully getting on his nerves this time around. “You should fucking do it.”

“Can you stop fucking doing that?” Billie hisses, pushing Tré as if to prove a point, though it's just a weak shove as he tries to pull another one out of his pocket. “These cost money.”

“Did you hear me?” Tré slaps his cheek harshly, grabbing the pack and holding it behind his back. “You should tell Mike how you feel about him!”

“Shut the fuck up, you dick!” Billie hisses, clamping a hand over Tré's mouth. He really can't afford to have everyone within ten feet of them finding out about this because Tré has no grasp of quiet talking. “I'm not gonna do it. At least not tonight.”

“We both know that it's tonight or never,” he rips Billie's hand off of his face, pointing at him with the half-empty cigarette pack. “You're too much of a pussy to do it any other time. Don't be stupid.”

“I thought me being stupid and falling in love with Mike is what got us into this shit in the first place,” he whispers, just for the sake of not having anyone hear him admit that he's indeed in love with Mike. He's fucking told only two people, and it's not very helpful that both of these people are in this party tonight.

“Okay,” Tré pushes him away, supporting his back on the railing, looking at him dead in the eye. “If you won't do it, Jason and I will.”

“Now you're just being an ass,” Billie huffs, turning to look at the building opposite them again, that being the only thing he's been doing since everything was set up. “You wouldn't dare, anyway.”

“Maybe you're right,” Tré sighs in resignation, grabbing a cigarette from the stolen pack he's been holding for the past five minutes. “I hope you know you're fucking pathetic.”

“Hey, I was the one that started that rumor,” Billie decides to try and grab a third cigarette from Tré's hands, giving him a warning look. “If you even think of taking this one, I'm gonna throw you off the balcony.”

“Ditto.”

It's finally silent for a while, except for Jason still testing the sound system inside, but Billie can ignore that. He can ignore that, as well as his own feelings, quite apparently, but if he thinks about it much longer his head's gonna explode, so he decides he's gonna focus on other things. Like how fucking dumb he must be, or how much of a wimp he's being, but all of these just lead him back to the subject at hand, so he abandons his thoughts in favor of smoking his cigarette and listening to Tré's quiet humming.

He can hear Tré's phone buzz in his back pocket. He can see him reach behind him and pull it out, and he can generally see and register what's going on around him well enough, but it's like he just can't get himself to zone back into reality. His mood's gone from okay enough to positively contribute to Mike's birthday party to miserable and shitty in a matter of seconds, which weren't his original plans for the night. He knows he's zoned out and thinking toxic thoughts, but he's too emotionally drained to get himself to zone back in. He supposes it's not the first nor the last time, so there's no point being dramatic about it.

Tré ends up bringing him back to reality after all, with a harsh pinch on the ear. He's still too out of it to hit him for it, but he's quick enough to spring into action once Tré screeches that he has an incoming text from John.

“Wait, are they here?” Billie hisses, almost getting whiplash as he hears a car engine roar from underneath the balcony. He recognizes Mike's car as he tries to park in an enclosed space, and both he and Tré immediately snap into action, running inside and telling Jason to turn off the music.

“They're here!” Tré shouts, and Billie guesses that it would've been helpful to have closed the balcony doors when they rushed inside because there's a general chaos and panic going on right now, which he guesses has to be audible down to the lobby.

“Everyone be quiet!” Billie hisses, helping a girl who used to be Mike's girlfriend in sophomore year of high school grab the large paper sign he and Jason spent two whole days crafting and painting. It's actually rather average – it says _'Happy Birthday, Mike!',_ obviously, and there's even a little dick under the lettering, courtesy of Billie and his ugly sense of humor – but John added a few hearts on it once they showed him the final result, which was a pretty solid thing to do. These glitter tubes Billie's had from primary school came in handy after all.

Much to his surprise, all the people strewn about actually obey him, which he supposes comes hand in hand with being the unofficial official party planner of the night. He makes everyone stand in front of the door, close to each other, with him and Mike's ex-girlfriend holding up the sign in the front. He takes a quick look at her. She's tall. He clears his throat.

“Is everyone in their position?”

He gets a murmured string of positive hums, and he signals for someone nearby to run over by the door and switch off the light real quick. He lets a deep exhale escape his tight lips, straightening his posture as he feels Tré squeeze his shoulder from behind.

It's dead silent, and everyone can hear the elevator doors open from the corridor, the voices from inside growing clearer and clearer until they're right outside the door. Billie smiles at Mike's audibly aggravated voice, and he guesses John must have made things way more complicated than they had to be in the first place.

There's a key entering the keyhole. “Out of all fucking people, I'd think you'd be the one to forget,” Mike can be heard whining as he unlocks the door. “I mean, thanks, but you're so _strange,_ man. You know?”

“I guess,” John clears his throat as Mike finally opens the door carelessly, his hand swiping around the wall as he tries to find the light switch in the dark. He never stops talking, is the thing, and only shuts up when the light is on and everyone springs into action.

“Happy birthday, Mike!” everyone screams, bursting into a fit of laughter as Mike all but hits his head against the doorframe. He stares at everyone for a while, his eyes sliding over every face, until he fixates his gaze on Billie's expectant face, smiling so wide he could warm up the entire room if he wanted to. He kind of does. Or maybe that's just Billie.

“Fuck you, guys,” he chuckles in disbelief, shaking his head at everyone's loud cheers and fist bumps. “That's why you were acting so fucking strange,” he then tells John, who's sitting smugly behind him, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Where's the fucking music?” someone shouts, and Jason runs behind the makeshift DJ station once again, his first choice being Everglade by L7, which earns him a round of loud cheers and whistles.

Billie still hasn't moved from his original position, not even noticing that the girl who once held the other end of the sign has abandoned it for the sake of dancing with everyone else in the middle of the room. It's not like he has eyes for anyone or anything other than Mike, who's still grinning at him sweetly, making him feel these delicious tingles up his spine and stomach. Tré and John are standing nearby, as well, but Billie's not that sad to report that they go unnoticed.

Mike's walking towards him. Billie has only a second to drop the sign on the floor before he's being embraced warmly, his nose very conveniently buried into Mike's neck with how tight he's being squeezed.

“I just know you're responsible for all of this,” he hears Mike mumble directly in his ear, and he hopes he can't feel Billie shiver under his arms.

He clears his throat, “Well, yeah, mostly. Tré and Jason helped. John, too.”

Mike pulls away, but his hands are still planted firmly on Billie's shoulders, shaking him jokingly and delivering a big, wet kiss on his forehead, “Thank you, Bill.”

Billie doesn't know what else to say, so he hopes his huge fucking smile and a little nod will suffice. Apparently, they do, because Mike leaves him alone after another slap on the shoulder, in favor of talking to another group of people who have been cheering for him for the past two minutes.

He finally breathes when he's alone, pushing his hair out of his face frantically. He can't be alone for too long with Tré in the same room as him, though, and he's on his side in a matter of seconds, hugging him around the shoulders.

“It's looking good so far!” he comments, pushing an already open bottle of beer in his chest. “But I can feel someone's gonna cry tonight.”

“Only time will show,” Billie takes a gulp, involuntarily staring at Mike, watching him laugh with all of the people that are here for him tonight. “Something tells me it's gonna be me.”

“This is sort of what I was implying,” Tré claps his back sympathetically, hissing in faux pain as he observes a woman start to touch Mike's hair softly, smiling at him sultry and sweet. “It's starting.”

Billie shakes his head, scoffing as Mike smiles back at her politely, ducking his head down so that she can demonstrate whatever she needs to with his hair. “He's so fucking clueless, isn't he?”

“Yeah, that's Mike,” Tré tips his beer forward so that it touches Billie's, and then he's back to gulping it down alongside him. He pauses. “I think Jason's having a bit of a problem with the smoke machine.”

Billie tears his eyes away from Mike – probably for the first and last time for the remainder of the night – and checks on Jason at the other side of the room, spotting him in the midst of a huge cloud of smoke, coughing and scrambling to turn it down. It's enough to lighten the mood for a second, and he doesn't even care that Tré spits a bit of beer on the back of his shirt.

“I'm gonna go help him,” Tré giggles, but not before hitting Billie up the head. “And you go fucking mingle or whatever single people do at parties. Standing here and staring at Mike doesn't help your whole not wanting people to know you're in love with him thing.”

“I'm pretty sure he's gonna know by the end of the night if you keep fucking talking about it,” Billie snaps, searching for any familiar face in the room to talk to after Tré abandons him. “And you're single, too, from what I know.”

“I'm a man of the people,” Tré says distractedly, still eyeing Jason wrestle the smoke machine. “Okay, I gotta run before he gets swallowed up by that thing.”

Billie doesn't have time to kick him before he runs off, so he doesn't even bother, just walks around until he finally ends up next to the buffet – commonly known as a large table dressed with some polka dotted material and filled with chips and nuts. He grabs a handful.

“You sure do look like you're having fun,” someone says, and Billie doesn't even bother to turn around and look at them. He just agrees around a mouthful, and later comes to the realization that the person must be John, judging from the ugly bright yellow sneakers that are currently kicking Billie in the shin obnoxiously. He shakes his head.

“Did you know that most of the people in here are planning on hitting on Mike tonight?” he asks, deciding to just straight up talk about what's gotten him in a pissy mood than ending up getting drunk and making a complete ass out of himself.

John takes a break from stuffing his mouth with chips to give Billie a small nod. Billie doesn't know what to even ask first and foremost, but luckily John starts talking before he has to decide, “Yeah, I had, like, three people tell me when I told them about the party. Who'd have known, right?”

Billie hopes he's not as red as he feels he is, and he desperately wants to shut his mouth and not speak for a few seconds – even better, hours – but he just has to vent. The best part is that he never vents, and he usually just keeps things to himself, but obviously, tonight is a very different night. Whatever. “And tell me why we invited so many fucking people again? We told the neighbors it'd be a small gathering, man! This is bullshit!”

John blinks at him. He chews his food, raising an eyebrow questioningly, “Where's the problem, man?”

“Maybe that literally everyone in here's apparently been pining over Mike for actual years. Like, what's up with that?”

John laughs, “I mean, it is absurd.” He takes a good look at him. “I can't for the life of me figure out why you're getting so fired up about it, though.”

Well. Billie can't say he doesn't have a point. Aside from the fact that John doesn't know Billie's completely and utterly head over heels for a lanky, oblivious motherfucker, Billie really can't expect everyone to keep their distance just because he's a moron. He's never really thought about what will happen when Mike does find someone he really likes, or even worse (better? Billie has a hard time deciding) falls in love with, but he supposes it will happen at some point. It may be tonight or a year from now, but it's gonna happen and Billie will have to take the pain and help Mike plan a fucking proposal or picnic date for someone who isn't himself. He sniffs.

“It's whatever,” he mutters, shrugging as John still tries to inspect his face, finding it hard to when Billie keeps on looking at his shoes. “I guess it will be a bit hectic for Mike. That's all.”

John's face practically screams that he doesn't believe Billie's bullshit for a second, but he still goes along with it, “Nah, I think a love declaration is exactly what Mike needs right now. You know. Turning twenty-five and all.”

Billie sends him a dirty look because he knows John's just fucking with him, and he's trying to figure out whether it was Tré or Jason who let him in on Billie's stupidity when he hears a familiar voice through the speakers strewn about the room. He pauses, smiles all fondly, and shakes his head.

“He's a delight,” John jokes, pushing Billie's shoulder before he leaves him alone with his thoughts. Billie tries to focus on Mike's singing through the speakers, his eyes catching him grasp the mic with one hand and throw his other arm in the air, but all he can really think about is: wow, he really _does_ adore Mike. He adores his talking voice, his singing voice, his thoughts, his rambling. It's fucking scary is what it is. It complicates things because he knows that Mike adores him, too, and he knows Mike would do anything for him, but it's not enough and Billie feels ungrateful. It should be enough that he gets to call a person like Mike his best friend, but he has to go and fuck things up.

As shitty and annoying as his thoughts might be, he does grin widely as Mike salutes him from where he's singing, and he sends him a kiss before he drops the mic and bows down as if to thank his audience, which is positively roaring at this point. Billie does clap for Mike's sake, laughing quietly to himself as the cheers start to die down and people are back to aimlessly dancing and chatting.

Billie can see Mike chatting with Jason for a while, and he guesses this is one of the only chances he'll get to talk to him tonight, so he weaves his way through dancing bodies to approach them, tapping his fingers on the makeshift DJ station playfully.

“Havin' fun?” he smiles at Mike, his whole body warming up at how Mike's eyes practically shine down at him. Billie feels as if his stomach's gonna fucking explode, he feels as if he needs to pee all of a sudden, and then he feels that these things only sound romantic in his head, so he tries to forget about it.

Which brings another thought to mind. Let's say Billie did find the balls – from somewhere, anywhere – to tell Mike just how hopelessly in love he is with him. What even would he fucking say? He is a hopeless romantic, that's for sure – and Tré called him a pathetic, miserable romantic once, so he guesses that's worth mentioning – but he really has no way with words unless he's writing them down. A love letter is out of the question. The goal is for Mike to understand him, not to laugh in his face.

Someone's poking him. He sputters his way back to reality, feeling the whole expanse from the base of his neck to the tips of his ears go pink as he takes in Mike's confused, but humorous expression. “Huh?”

 _“I said,”_ Mike says slowly, loudly, as if Billie's daft, “I never thought you had party planning in ya. You alright?”

“What? Yeah,” Billie scoffs, pinching Jason under the table when he opens his mouth to comment something probably Billie would be the one to regret later on, “sure.”

Mike looks like he's about to add something, but then a tall dude appears on his side and asks him to dance, which really shouldn't make Billie's blood boil like that. He's a good-looking guy, too, his hair bleached and eyes a dreamy honey, and Mike looks too bashful about it for Billie to believe he's not enjoying the attention. He tries to smile at him encouragingly as he throws Billie a look over his shoulder, but he feels that it comes out as an ugly grin more than anything else. Mike doesn't notice as he walks away with the dude. Billie gulps down some beer.

“Low blow,” Jason hisses, sounding like he's been holding it in for the longest time. “That was so fucking bad, man. Shit.”

“Yeah, thanks, Jason,” Billie makes a faux toast motion with his beer. “Thanks for clarifying it, really. Wow.”

“I guess as long as Mike's happy,” Jason shrugs, quickly changing the song to something a bit quicker because seeing Mike slow dance with someone else really wasn't what Billie needed to see right now. “Well, that guy looks like he's talking his ear off a bit.”

Billie almost gets whiplash from how quickly he turns to take a look at them, trying to hide a smile when he sees Mike widen his eyes in what seems disbelief. He really tries to not seem incredibly satisfied about it, but Jason's knowing look tells him there's no use.

“Your smile's this close to touching your ears, you know that?” Jason sighs, rubbing at his eye tiredly. “At the end of the day, I really don't know why you don't just grow a pair and talk to him rather than getting happy over other people getting rejected.”

“Because it's very likely _I_ will get rejected and I'm not ready for that yet,” he shrugs, as if he's making any sense, and rolls his eyes when he catches sight of another person approach Mike flirtatiously. “I miss the time Mike's features hadn't really matured properly and he looked like a Golden Retriever. No one attempted to fuck him back then. Times were simpler.”

“You weren't even in love with him back then. You could have cared less about who Mike fucked.”

“Isn't it exhausting to always go against whatever I'm saying?” Billie flicks him on the temple, clicking his tongue on the roof of his mouth, “You're fucking obnoxious.”

Jason shrugs as if he really doesn't have an answer for that, but Billie gets it. They sit in silence for a while, until Mike approaches them again, looking annoyed as ever.

Billie really doesn't mean to be this chipper about it. “How'd it go, hotshot?”

Mike fixes him with an annoyed look, grabbing Billie's beer right out of his grasp and gulping some of it down, wiping his mouth on his limp wrist, “What's up with everyone tonight? Do you know how many times I've been hit on?”

“I can imagine,” Billie mutters, snatching his beer back.

“No, seriously!” Mike huffs, alternating glances between both Jason and Billie. “It's like there's something in the beer that's making everyone fucking spontaneous like that. And it's not even different, it's all like _'Hey, man, I've had the hots for you ever since high school. Wanna get out of here?_ '”

Billie laughs at Mike's impression, and he's pretty sure Jason's doing the same. It wouldn't be funny if Mike didn't look so fired up about it, and Billie can't find it in himself to be hurt or jealous when Mike's this cute while making fun of people.

“And at the end of the day, why not ask me out in high school?” Mike adds after a while, making a chuckle escape from Billie's nose. “Who has time for this shit now, man? I don't even have the energy to go out for a drink with you guys sometimes.”

Billie stops laughing. He's silent for a while, and then he spits it out, "So, you're not open to any relationships right now?”

“I mean,” Mike sighs, grabbing a stool lying about nearby and sitting on it, “it's not like I wouldn't try if a chance presented itself or whatever. But, like. I really don't have time for this shit.”

Jason's coughing. The noise he's making can't compare to the noise in Billie's head, and he finds himself tilting his head as if he can't comprehend the shit Mike's spewing. It's just that he's always remembered Mike bitching about not having a serious relationship yet, but he supposes that was a couple years ago. It's still discouraging.

“Well,” he says, as nonchalantly as he can muster, “if you meet someone that really loves you, then, I guess... it's different. Maybe.”

Mike laughs, “I have to love them, too, Bill. I'm not sure this is how it works. Well, I've never been in love, so.”

“That's right,” Jason chimes in, and Billie really doesn't want to unload all his disappointment and misery on him right now, but it's hard for him when he keeps cutting in like that. He guesses the best thing he can do right now is stay quiet and not speak for the remainder of the night, maybe admire Mike from afar – which should be the fucking title of his autobiography, if he ever has one – and sulk silently. It's a great plan, and he plans on sticking to it.

It's not until much later on that he realizes just how good this party's going. Pretty much everyone's having fun, and no one actually minds that the buffet is half-empty at this point. He's the only one that's still a bit blue, but it's really hard to stay sad when Mike's smiling so big, practically lighting up the whole room. Billie doesn't wanna say Mike's the most beautiful person in this apartment tonight, because that would be like rubbing salt in his pathetic wounds. He ends up thinking it anyway, but it isn't as painful as he thought it would be.

He catches sight of Mike for the first time in a quarter of the hour or so, and he looks a bit tired, but also as pretty as he always is. He's heading for the balcony, potentially for a smoke, and Billie decides that he really wants to talk to him. He's ready to walk out there, but then he sees an unknown woman walk outside to Mike before he can even move, so he just slumps back down in his place.

“You know,” Jason sighs, returning from his trip to the toilet and taking his place behind the DJ station, “don't you think Mike might find the fact that you've talked to him approximately twice the whole night weird?”

Billie shrugs, “People have kept him busy, I guess. It's not always about me.”

“Oh, of course, it's not always about you,” Jason claps him on the back. “But it's always about _him_. This is one of the rare times you don't give him the entirety of your attention. It's a transition.”

“Can you just fuck off and focus on the music?” Billie huffs, shoving Jason out of the way so that he can change the song. “You've been playing the same band for the past hour.”

“Yeah?” Jason scratches his head, scoffing when Billie finally picks a song. “Hey, maybe you should be the DJ, man. I Don't Wanna Go Down To The Basement by the Ramones? Correction: _Any_ Ramones song? Talk about originality.”

“Fuck off,” Billie giggles, slapping Jason's cheek playfully. “It's better than the fucking Go-Go's.”

“The Go-Go's slap, you asshole,” Jason reasons, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. He pauses. “What are you even talking about – don't you own, like, all of their records?”

“I bought two. No big deal.”

“Right,” Jason clears his throat, gesturing for Billie to look at the direction of the balcony. This is so unnecessary, Billie thinks even as he's turning around, seeing the same girl who walked out to the balcony walk back in quickly, presumably pretending she was inside the whole time. He shakes his head but doesn't say anything.

“You know, if this was a romantic comedy, the only explanation as to why Mike's been turning down hot people all night long would be that he's secretly in love with his best friend,” Jason grasps and shakes Billie's shoulder. “Who – _surprise_ – has been pining over him for fifty fucking years!”

Billie huffs, muttering, “Nine,” under his breath.

“Yeah, okay,” Jason laughs, shrugging a shoulder empathetically. “It's too bad this isn't a movie. Sad.”

“I get that you're having a fucking laugh and all, but I'm starting to feel really pathetic over here,” Billie whines, shouting out when he catches sight of Tré from the corner of his eye. “Hey! Tré!”

Tré throws him a quick glance and whispers something to the person he'd been talking to, running up to Billie and Jason joyously.

“Where have you been, man?” Billie whines some more, resting his head on Tré's shoulder. His shirt's wet. He doesn't think much of it.

“Uh, around,” Tré replies, petting Billie's hair in a comforting manner. It really helps, believe it or not. “What's up? Do you know Mike's currently standing alone out on the balcony?”

Billie sniffs, “I'm aware, yeah.”

“You're hopeless,” Tré mumbles, pushing Billie off. “At least two people have approached him out there and you're still here? Really? Sad.”

“You two are some friends,” Billie huffs, occupying himself with the now broken smoke machine on the table. He can see Tré moving away from the corner of his eye, “Hey, where are you going?”

“To keep Mike company, since you won't do it,” he snaps, waving at Jason as he indeed walks out to the balcony until Billie can't see him anymore.

He finds himself swaying to the music for a while until Jason deems it an appropriate time to change the track, and he's thinking about everything going on once again. He pulls at Jason's sleeve, who lets him know he has his attention with a deep, tired sigh. “Jason? Do ya think I should go talk to him?”

“Depends,” Jason glances up at him, then goes back to inspecting a scratch on a record he found under the table. “What are you gonna talk to him about?”

“I don't know, like,” Billie gulps, impulsively scratching on his forearm, “the party. Uh, maybe he has something he wants to talk to me about. Or we can just, like. Not talk.”

Jason doesn't respond – or react, for that matter – for a bit, which really shouldn't be making Billie feel embarrassed. Jason's just a dork who bar-tends for a living, anyway. Well, he supposes bar-tending isn't much different than his own job at Wendy's, so he decides to keep his mouth shut.

Jason does look at him after a while, at least, and he puts a hand on his shoulder, sniffing dramatically, “I say you put us all out of our misery and get it over with. It's just three words, four at most. I fucking love you. Simple as that. Please.”

Billie scoffs and pushes Jason's hand away, craning his neck to look at the ceiling. He can't look Jason in the eye right now – mainly because of the fact that he knows he's right, but he's never going to admit that out loud. He feels someone poke his shoulder, and they start talking before he's turned to face them.

“He's so fucking fed up,” Tré snickers, nodding as Jason laughs with him. “God, it's so funny. He's in a pissy mood because everyone's hitting on him. What an ungrateful brat.”

“Come on, it must be annoying,” Jason laughs. “I mean, I think he enjoyed it the first two times, but it's just tiresome at this point.”

“I guess,” Tré shrugs, turning to look at Billie. “Should I start getting the cake ready and stuff?”

“Huh?” Billie mumbles, thinking about it. “Uh, I guess? What time is it?”

Jason checks his phone, “Almost one.”

“Yeah, get on that,” Billie decides, nodding as Tré slaps him on the shoulder and leisurely walks over to the general direction of the kitchen.

Billie contemplates his options for a second. He could sit here and sulk for the rest of the night – what he's been doing all along – or he could go outside and sit with Mike, which could be the thing that fixes his mood for the rest of the night.

He puts his beer down, “I'll be outside if anyone needs me.”

“No one will need you,” Jason replies, smiling in contentment. “I'm gonna change the song.”

“Don't you dare,” Billie yells over his shoulder, not able to imagine how he'd react if some romantic ballad started playing while he was alone with Mike. He's too weak for that. Jason's playing dirty.

He takes a deep breath just before he walks out onto the balcony and there Mike is, staring straight ahead over the city, leaning on the crooked railing. Billie walks up next to him and supports himself on the railing, and Mike must sense that someone's suddenly standing next to him, because he turns around, looking ready to snap. His features soften when he catches sight of Billie, and a relieved sigh escapes his mouth.

“Jesus Christ, Billie,” he laughs in disbelief, and Billie pats his back sympathetically. “I thought it was another one of those lovestruck pricks. I was about to snap.”

Billie clears his throat self-consciously, removing his hand from Mike's back, “You poor thing.”

Mike laughs humorlessly. “Don't laugh at me.”

Billie lowers his head until he's looking down at the pavement, right where the main entrance to their apartment block is, the air hitting his cheeks pleasantly and giving them a rosy hue. He yawns a little, and then he faces Mike again, who's already looking at him.

Billie's heart starts to beat faster, “What?”

Mike shrugs, “I don't know. You seem very... blue tonight.”

“I thought I was always blue.”

“Well, yeah,” Mike laughs, “but you're not very talkative tonight.” He stares for a bit longer, then he makes a dismissive motion with his hand, “Anyway.”

“Yeah, anyway,” Billie agrees, turning so that his back's against the railing, his hands in his pockets. “What do you think now that you're twenty-five, big boy?”

Mike cranes his neck to look at the sky, and he seems to think about it for a moment. Billie takes a minute to really appreciate how soft his shaved face looks, and the veins on his neck, his eyes snapping back to Mike's face when he faces him again.

“I think that I'll be thirty in five years.”

Billie laughs, and Mike laughs with him, though they both know what he said made sense deep down. It's scary to know that they'll be in their thirties in just five years, and they still haven't figured out what they wanna do with their lives. It's something to think about – to seriously sit down and think about – but if Billie thinks about it for too long he may end up having a panic attack, or pulling all of his hair out, so he guesses laughing about it is the only option for now.

“Yeah, that's usually how it goes,” Billie scratches at his eyebrow. He doesn't know where to take it from that, so he settles for the comfortable silence that engulfs them. It's really not bad, anyway. He gets to think about things, mull over what to say next, all the while having beautiful little Mike on his side. He takes a sneaky look at him and then freezes.

The thing is, the moon's in a very beneficial place right now. Well, not exactly – it would be beneficial if Billie wasn't so mesmerized that he couldn't move his eyes away. What he's trying to say is that the moon's shining down on Mike's face beautifully – either that or the more possible explanation of the street lamp nearby, but whatever it is, the results are the same. Mike's face is illuminated by the light, and the shadows contrast his features beautifully. He's all cheekbone and jawline, pretty eyes and strong nose, and it's so hard for Billie to look away right now.

It's even worse when Mike turns to look at him because then he's reminded that Mike's eyes are blue – so blue and so nicely shaped, and his eyebrows are pretty and naturally furrowed. He's so fucking oblivious that Billie could fucking swing at him right now, but then he wouldn't be able to admire the way his stupid earring shines from the light, or how pink his lips are, or how his stupid tank top's leaving his stupid arms and stupid collarbones and all of his stupid tattoos out in the open for Billie to thirst over painfully. He truly could swing at him, really easily. All this frustration's making him crazy, and the clear blue of Mike's eyes isn't helping, nor is the fact that he looks confused right now, as if Billie hasn't been confused over this for nine fucking years.

“Mike,” Billie hears himself say, so much more dramatically than what was necessary, though he doesn't really register that was him saying it, or that this was his voice. It must have been him though, because Mike's eyebrows raise high on his forehead, expectantly.

“Yeah?”

Billie breaks eye contact for the sake of looking back inside the apartment, and he's just now realized that Jason's indeed changed the song. He almost scoffs out loud at the choice, but he's too caught up in the moment – and the melodic sound of the Arctic Monkeys' No. 1 Party Anthem for the matter – to care too much about it. He looks back at Mike and opens his mouth, though nothing comes out. Mike nods encouragingly, expectantly, his eyebrows back to being prettily furrowed.

Maybe it's Alex Turner's magical technique or Mike's serious face that makes him spit it out. It's most probably a mixture of both, and a tad bit of the beers he's been gulping down all night long, but the point is that his body is now facing Mike, and he's very dramatically holding one of Mike's hands between his very sweaty palms.

“I'm in love with you.”

There's still a pleasant breeze hitting him directly in the face, though he feels as if everything's frozen around him, and will be until Mike finally gives him a response. He doesn't know what to make of his face. He's just staring at him, blankly, his mouth gaping open the tiniest bit, and then it snaps closed.

Billie doesn't really register that Mike's laughing until the melodic sound makes it to his ears, but he guesses he must have been laughing in silence for a little while. Whatever he thought would be his reaction, this was honestly at the bottom of the list. He expected Mike to ignore him and pretend he didn't hear him, or yell at him, or in the off case, maybe empathize or tell him that he feels the same. But he's really fucking laughing. He's bent over and clutching his stomach, snorting, and cackling.

“Wh-what's so funny?” Billie dares to ask, guessing that his face is cherry red to the tips of his ears. He can feel it burning, and the worst part is that it's from a mixture of embarrassment and anger both, which is something he really shouldn't be experiencing tonight out of all nights.

Mike tries to stand up straight again, but it takes him a while because he's obviously finding everything so fucking funny. It's absurd. “O-Okay, Tré told you to take the piss, right?”

“What?” Billie snaps, taking a step closer because Mike's really not paying attention to him right now, which is what should be the case if he wants to make any sense out of all of this. “No, it's fucking true!”

Mike starts positively fucking wheezing. What is Billie even supposed to do right now? Running inside doesn't seem like an available option, because he'll either break down crying in front of everyone, or he'll mechanically run out of his own apartment before they even cut the cake. Staying here isn't the best option if he's being honest, but he has to settle this.

“Mike, I,” Billie gulps as Mike starts to wipe the forming tears from his eyes, “I've been in love with you for nine fucking years, man.”

“I'm gonna shit myself,” Mike wheezes out, close to falling over the railing at this point. He's fucking bent over as if he's in pain, and Billie would think he's throwing up if he couldn't see his shoulders shaking. He's fucking openly laughing because this is just a huge joke to him. He's finding the fact that Billie would take a bullet for him hysterical. Billie doesn't know what else to think.

“I open myself up to you and you're fucking laughing at me?” Billie shouts, and then automatically regrets it. They're out in the balcony, for fuck's sake, and it's one in the morning, and he feels as if his whole world's crumbling down. Mike puts his head on Billie's shoulder, still shaking with fucking laughter, “Mike, I'm fucking _crazy_ about you.”

 _“Shit,”_ Mike gasps, fanning himself with both hands as his laughter comes down. He's still making gurgling noises with his throat. Billie's never been more fucking mortified. “I really love you guys. Fuck,” he bursts out in a tiny fit of laughter again, and then Billie guesses he gets bored of stomping all over his feelings, because it stops altogether, except for the occasional little giggle.

“I can't believe this,” Billie mutters to himself, and even the sound of his fucking voice must be hysterical to Mike because he starts chuckling again. Billie dares to throw him a dirty look.

“Man, I fucking believed you for a second there,” Mike's pointing at him as if to give him kudos, as if he's fucking done something other than making a complete ass out of himself. “I mean,” he shrugs, wiping at his still wet eyes, fucking giggling, “with the number of people that have confessed their undying love for me tonight, I wouldn't be surprised if you did it, too. Wow.”

Billie laughs humorlessly, his eyes pointed to anywhere but Mike, settling on the horizon. “You're such an oblivious prick.”

Mike doesn't respond. He must be fucking confused, is what he is, because Billie's not laughing. In fact, Billie's positive he looks about ready to break down crying, or jump off the balcony and land on Mike's car, fucking denting it permanently because it's what the asshole deserves. What a dick, honestly.

“Alright!”

Billie closes his eyes at the sound of Tré's loud cheer, sensing that he and Mike aren't the only two out in the balcony anymore. He's sad to report that his suspicions are true once he turns around and sees not just Tré, but the whole fucking party gathered in front of the narrow balcony doors, all of them huddled behind Jason, who's holding a large chocolate cake with a few candles atop.

Mike doesn't get much time to react before everyone's singing him a happy birthday, everyone but Billie, because he's still trying to get a grasp of reality right now. He's left staring at the cake in Jason's hands, for no particular reason other than that it's right there, but then he starts searching for Tré in the crowd, almost mechanically. He finds him standing behind Jason, singing along loudly, and there's a curious look in his eyes. Billie makes a choking motion with his hands, which results in Tré to freeze and pin his eyes on Mike, still fucking oblivious – as always.

Eventually, the song has to come to an end, and everyone starts clapping for Mike. Billie just watches as Mike, still in some kind of daze, walks forward and blows out all of the candles, resulting in another round of cheers and claps. Tré's still eyeing him.

“Okay, we should all head back inside before I freeze my ass off,” Jason says through gritted teeth, the cake held carefully on his frozen palms. Everyone starts to walk back inside, all except Mike, Billie, and Tré, who's still trying to grasp onto everything that's going on.

Mike sighs in contentment, throwing a look in Billie's direction, “You coming?”

Billie sniffs, mainly because of the cold, and shakes his head lightly, “I'll stay out here for a while.”

He can see Mike look at Tré from the corner of his eye, and he guesses Tré doesn't react. Mike approaches him carefully, “Hey, man, this was the first time you didn't wanna blow out the candles with me. Are you sure you're alright?”

“For fuck's sake,” Billie mutters under his breath, still refusing to make eye contact with Mike. “I told you I'm fine. Go cut your cake,” he follows up a bit louder, rubbing at his eye nervously.

“Yeah, man, go inside,” Tré finally chimes in, his voice sounding closer than he was standing a minute ago, “we'll be right there.”

Mike looks fucking confused. Billie decides he really doesn't have the right to be confused right now, so he starts tapping his fingers on the railing impatiently, knowing damn well it will produce an obnoxious enough sound for Mike to realize Billie's pissed at him. He huffs out of his nose for good measure, just to be a brat, and then Mike's gone, though reluctantly, looking back at him every two steps he takes.

“So,” Tré begins carefully, once Mike's finally inside, “should I ask what happened or is it too soon?”

Billie doesn't look away from the opposite building, which he's been uselessly watching for a while now, and shakes his head as he feels Tré come to stand next to him, “I don't-” he sighs. “I think he thought we were fucking with him.”

Tré's eyebrows furrow, so Billie tries to elaborate.

“Like, he thought you told me to take the piss out of everyone that's been hitting on him tonight. Or something.”

He guesses that's good enough of an explanation because Tré looks mortified _for_ Billie, but there's also something humorous in his features. Honestly, Billie really can't be mad about it. It's fucking comedic.

“He's so fucking dumb, I swear,” Tré mumbles, a little giggle escaping him in the end. He looks like he's trying to repress his laughter, but Billie knows he's really laughing at how damn daft Mike really is. He shrugs.

“It's whatever,” he waves his hand dismissively, though he's still sniffing, and he knows Tré can see right through his bullshit. It's silent for all about a minute, until he has to burst, “What a dick.”

Tré finally bursts out laughing, slapping the railing and snorting. Billie has to laugh with him because the whole situation is so absurd, so stupid. Ridiculous. It's something that would only happen to him, too, because anyone else would be able to convince Mike that he was serious. He must be so damn out of Mike's league that Mike couldn't even picture it without breaking out in hysterics. Jesus Christ, Billie's hopeless.

Tré wipes the tears from his eyes, still giggling here and there, “We should head back inside. You don't wanna miss the cake.”

“You really think I'm in the mood to eat right now?” Billie replies, pushing his hair back. He thinks about it for a second, with Tré not moving by his side. “I love you, man.”

“Completely unrelated,” Tré laughs, but he rubs at Billie's back anyway. “I love you, too, man. Come on.”

And then Billie's being pulled inside, his arm in a firm grip in Tré's hand. He allows himself to get dragged all the way to the dining table, where he's then being given a piece of cake. It looks nice, and Billie can see that he's gotten the piece that has been written on, judging by the big M in the center of it. M for Mike. Or miserable, in this case.

He stuffs his face with it, either way, and Tré's there to put another piece on his plate. Which somehow results in a cake fight between the two of them, and then between everyone in the room, as unwise as it is. It's unwise because he and Mike are the ones that will have to clean it all up before the cake gets all warm and gooey and gross, which means he'll spend more time with Mike than necessary. It's one of those times that he can't afford sharing an apartment with Mike, but there's nothing he can do about but shut the fuck up and stuff more cake down Jason's underwear.

It's not until much later on, after the cake fight's well over and he has a couple of more beers in his system that he realizes there's a huge piece of cake lying right on the top of his head, and that Tré's been laughing at him for half an hour now without bothering to tell him. He only realizes it when the cake starts sliding down his temple and ends up on his shirt, which is positively destroyed and stained at this point. He takes it and smashes it onto Tré's own head.

“Asshole,” he laughs, huffing as he feels just how sticky he is. He gives a final slap to Tré's shoulder, “I'm gonna go wash some of this off.”

“I think Gina and Josie are making out in the bathroom or something,” Tré giggles, his cheeks pink from all the alcohol he consumed in under an hour. Billie might have something to do with that. Well. “You should go shower in the kitchen.”

“You know what,” Billie huffs as he heads for the kitchen, the soles of his shoes sticking on the frosting-covered floor. He can feel his back ache from just thinking about having to clean this up, and he realizes for the first time that he has a fucking headache. Nothing too big, but enough to make him drag his feet a little.

There's already some other dude washing the entirety of his arm in the sink, and Billie almost walks out with the intention of coming back later, but then he catches sight of some too-familiar-for-his-own-good tattoos on the guy's arm. He freezes near the door-frame, torn between walking back outside and pretending he never walked in in the first place or waiting for his turn to shower and make awkward small talk with Mike. He doesn't have much time to think about it, because Mike pulls out his wet arm from inside the sink and dips the other one in, having to turn and face the other side of the room, catching sight of Billie Joe as a result. He stops moving altogether, the tap left running.

Billie doesn't know how long Mike's eyeing him for, but it seems like a particularly slow eternity until he finally starts rubbing the cake off his arm. He lowers his head enough for Billie to feel comfortable enough to start walking closer, but he stops until there's a safe distance between them. And by safe, Billie means far enough so that his fist can't collide with Mike's jaw.

“You're absolutely covered,” Billie tries, knowing he doesn't look much better himself. Mike doesn't bother to look at him, but he seems deep in thought, and Billie notices his face is a pale pink. He clears his throat, “In, uh. Cake.”

Mike scoffs, never looking up from the sink. He's pulled his arm out by now, and the tap's closed, but he's still staring at the bottom of the sink like it's the most interesting thing in the world. Billie's forgotten that even his balls feel sticky because there's a sort of tension in the room he can't ignore. He can feel there is an explosion ready to occur, and he knows damn well it isn't going to come from him.

“You were serious, weren't you?”

 _Boom_. It's silly – because he knew it was bound to happen any second now, but he still flinches. Or, more correctly, freezes. The flinching's more so internal because he really can't move right now, even if he wanted to. The worst part is that Mike's still not facing him, but his eyes are skimming across any surface in his line of vision anxiously. He wasn't at all aggressive about it, and that reminds Billie that he's talking to _Mike_ , his best friend, the person who's always been so gentle with people, let alone him. His tone was soft, inquiring, yet fucking terrifying – to Billie, that is.

He still doesn't know what to say, so he hopes that a jerky nod will suffice, but then he realizes that Mike's damn head is still hanging low and there's no way he can see him. He tries again. “Yeah,” he says, and it sounds like he claws it out his own throat, like he's about to choke on his own spit any second now.

“God, Billie,” he finally moves away from the sink, but he's unable to fucking face Billie, just takes on pacing around the small space between the fridge and the counter. He stops by the sink again, and he scratches his head jerkily. His eyes meet Billie's for a split second, but then he immediately looks back down, “God.”

Billie doesn't know what to make of this. Well, there's one thing he knows for sure. He's really fucking pissed. He's mad because Mike's acting as if this is something inconceivable, like there was no way this was possible in any universe. And the thing is: maybe he felt like that was the case, but it's really not Billie's fault that Mike Pritchard's a dumb, oblivious prick.

“You know, acting like a total prick about it helps a lot, actually. Please do continue,” Billie snaps, impulsively kicking on the lower cabinet. He bends over the counter and buries his lower face in his hands, but his eyes are staring straight ahead at the chipped wall, waiting for Mike's next words. They never come. He doesn't know if he should be thankful or rueful.

He can still see Mike pacing from the corner of his eye. He steals a couple glances at him, scratching at his cheeks punishingly when the first thought that enters his mind is how nicely Mike's biceps are shining from the tap water. This is what got him into this in the first place.

Mike stops pacing. Billie moves his eyes toward him again, and he knows Mike can see he's watching him, because for the first time in a while he's facing him too. It feels like a weird sort of stare-down, and Billie knows he's not the one that's gonna lose.

Mike doesn't lose, either. Instead, he spreads his arms wide open, his gray tank splashed wet from the water, and nods nervously for Billie to step forward. Billie doesn't mean to start moving so quickly, but seeing Mike's arms open in invitation seems like a ritual by now, and it automatically means _get it moving._

His arms wrap around Mike's waist, while Mike's arms wrap around his back, and he's just now realized for the hundredth time in under an hour that he's still covered in cake. Mike doesn't seem to care, because Billie's face is buried in his neck, and Mike's own chin's supported on the top of Billie's head. It's so warm and familiar, and Billie's happy to report there's nothing different or awkward about it. He doesn't know how he would feel if that was the case.

Mike's chest's rumbling as he mumbles something in Billie's hair, and Billie has to hum in question because he really can't think about anything else but how sweaty Mike's neck is. Mike sighs choppily, so Billie opens his eyes, trying to pull away just a tad so that he can look Mike in the eyes. Mike doesn't let him, and he ends up being squeezed even tighter against a solid chest.

“I'm gonna kiss you,” he repeats, and Billie's movement's so quick he doesn't get the chance to squeeze him closer again. Granted, he doesn't unglue their bodies from each other, but it's enough so that he can make eye contact.

“Don't be daft,” he huffs, burying his face back into his neck, sighing in contentment at the smell of sweat and musk. “You don't have to.”

Mike's chest rumbles again as he speaks, “I want to. Just to see how it feels.”

“Fucking terrible, is what it will feel like,” Billie mutters, his heart beating just a little faster just at the implication of kissing Mike. “I'll be too nervous.”

It kind of feels nice, being finally able to openly talk about how in love he is with Mike – and to Mike out of all fucking people. It's also fucking weird, but he tries not to think about it too much.

“I'm serious,” Mike clips, delivering a soft slap up the back of Billie's head. “I really love you, man. I don't know, maybe...”

Billie stops breathing for a second before he feels Mike shake his head gently on top of his.

“I don't know.”

He tries to breathe again, but every single inhale feels like it's being lodged up his throat. He shakes his head softly against Mike's skin, a song he faintly recognizes blaring through the speakers and carrying its way into the enclosed space of the kitchen. Maybe it's Fading Fast by the Go-Go's, but he can't think too much about it before Mike's pulling back and lowering his hands to grasp Billie's waist.

“You really don't have to do this, you know,” Billie mutters. He's scared, is what he is, and as much as he wants to do this, he feels as if he's gonna shit his pants any second now, or that his stomach's gonna drop in his ass as soon as his and Mike's lips touch. _If_ they do, that is.

“The only reason I'm not doing this is on the off case you don't want to,” Mike replies snarkily, though his eyes are still soft, soft as always, and he's smiling cheekily. Billie can feel Mike's heart pound quickly against his own chest. “Just tell me.”

Billie doesn't make a sound. He wants to scream that he wants this, that he's been wanting this for the longest time, but nothing comes out. He manages a little nod, which really isn't that clear, to be honest, but he's glad Mike gets it anyway. He must get it, he thinks, because one of his hands leave Billie's waist to climb up his face, and touch his cheek softly.

He gives a little more time for Billie to think it through, his thumb stroking Billie's lower lip gently – possibly testing how soft it is – but the thing is, Billie has absolutely nothing to think about. Mike's right here, and Billie's mind's hazy most of the time anyway, so all he can really do is wait until the fireworks go off.

They do, eventually, after a long, long time. Mike leans down, and Billie stays still and enjoys the pressure being applied on his waist. It's a soft little peck, for starters, just testing the waters. Billie's the one to initiate the second kiss, and he's so damn proud of it – even though he's initiated plenty of kisses in his twenty-five-year-old lifetime.

It feels good. Finally feeling Mike so intimately close after so many years of pining, and though he knows this means absolutely nothing, probably, and that it's most probable that nothing will come of it, he still closes his eyes and sighs in contentment, his arms coming up to wrap around Mike's even sweatier neck.

Mike removes his hand from where it's resting on Billie's cheek, and it joins his other one on his waist, though it slides under his shirt and stays there, creating a weird shock of electricity up Billie's spine. Something about how faint the music sounds from the other room makes this moment feel even more intimate. Billie just knows he's not gonna recover from this easily, but he can't do anything else but play with the long-ish strands of hair behind Mike's ear.

Mike still seems unsure about the whole thing, so he doesn't move his arms from Billie's waist, but he kisses him so carefully, gently, Billie wishes this would have happened sooner. He's lucky enough that it's happening at all, he reminds himself.

There's a moment where he takes on sucking on Mike's bottom lip, his thumb straying from his hair quickly to feel just how sharp Mike's cheekbone is right now – hollowed cheeks and all – but quickly returns. Mike doesn't kiss him at all during that moment – he stands still, his eyes closed tight in pleasure, his expression the epitome of relaxed.

He's back to kissing Billie as soon as his bottom lip's being let go of, and it's a bit more aggressive, so much so that Billie thinks he's starting to feel a bit dizzy. It's good enough to have Mike's lips touch his own, so he really doesn't know how to react as Mike's tongue reluctantly slips inside as well. He ends up impulsively sucking on it, similar to his bottom lip, and shoving his own as far down Mike's mouth as the height difference allows.

Mike sighs as he pulls away, hugging Billie close once again. He starts to sway to the music, and Billie has to follow his lead – being glued to his chest and all. So they dance to Fading Fast for a bit until the track's over and they're brought back to reality.

Billie preens as he feels Mike deliver a wet kiss to his cheek, and he still doesn't know what any of this means, but he doesn't dare ask. He just enjoys being showered with Mike's love and attention – whether it's platonic or whatever else.

“I love you, Bill,” Mike mumbles in his hair, both of his hands sliding under Billie's shirt to rub at his back. Billie feels pathetic, what with getting goosebumps and all, but he still preens and preens, and then preens some more, similar to a cat purring. “You're so pretty,” he continues, drawing shapes on Billie's skin. “We'll figure it out.”

Billie doesn't know what to respond to that. There's some sort of implication behind it that he'd love Mike to elaborate on, but one thing his experience tells him is that overthinking and obsessing over it will destroy even the tiniest bit of hope and potential that could be there. Or, there could be nothing there, and he's just being pathetic.

Before his head can explode with the possibilities, he feels Mike's hands slide further up, and then down again, down, down until one of his hands is cradling the back of Billie's thigh intimately, and he reaches down for another sweet, open-mouthed kiss. It's sort of a reassuring gesture, and Billie thinks they'll be okay. Yeah, they'll be alright.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!


End file.
